


From There to Here

by writerdot



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 5x4, Gen, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdot/pseuds/writerdot
Summary: Post "Birthmarks." What happened after Wilson threw the bottle?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a few years old now. But with the stuff going on at Livejournal, I'm going to start moving more of my fics over here.

“So,” House says hesitantly, reaching Wilson, who has been sitting in a corner since the police questioned him about his part in the incident with the broken mirror. The small bit of levity when House had told him that he wasn’t boring seems to be long broken in the midst of police interviews and a disappointed mother who isn’t even his. “You okay?”

Wilson sighs morosely, murmuring just loud enough for House to hear, “Do you think they bought it?”

House pulls a chair out next to Wilson, and plops himself down, settling his cane between his knees. “The story you told about you tripping over my cane during the argument and the bottle flying from your hand and through that ‘Priceless and beautiful’ stained glass window…”

House pauses to see Wilson’s reaction to his near-perfect repetition of the caretaker of the building’s voice when he’d said that exact thing an hour ago, but there’s nothing out of him, so House mentally blows out a frustrated breath and continues:

“I think so. Everyone heard the argument, so we couldn’t deny that, but there aren’t any bruises or other signs of a physical struggle, so it doesn’t make sense we did it fighting. My mom might be the tougher sell than the cops, though.”

“I feel terrible,” Wilson answers, standing up quickly, as though ready for any excuse to flee. “I should go talk to her…”

Before he can go anywhere, though, House reaches up and wraps his fingers around Wilson’s left wrist. He wonders if the look of surprised confusion on Wilson’s face is a mirrored expression of his own, but he doesn’t look at Wilson’s face. Instead, he sees his fingers wrapped around the dark fabric, just above where he can feel Wilson’s watch beginning to imprint itself on his own hand. He lets go when he realizes just how hard he’s holding on.

He clears his throat and wraps his hands around his cane. “I uh…she mentioned talking to the guy who called the police in the first place.”

Wilson frowns and surreptitiously rotates his wrist. “Why?”

“Because he’s an old friend of my father’s,” he answers. “He’s…not that fond of me. I think that she thinks he called the police hoping that I would get tossed in the clink just for the hell of it, whether I did anything or not. She wants to smooth things over.”

Wilson sits back down with a grimace. “That’s…charming.”

House shrugs. “Not the first person to want to see me behind bars.”

Wilson doesn’t say anything to that, but he doesn’t try to leave again, either, so House takes it as a small victory. 

They sit in silence for a while, watching the other people there stare at them wearily as House glares at each and every one of them in return.

He doesn’t know exactly how long they’ve been sitting there when he hears Wilson speak softly. “I wonder if they’re waiting for one of us to throw something else?”

House is so startled, that he’s almost sure that he’s given himself whiplash as he turns his head to meet Wilson’s cautiously amused face. He can’t help a slow, genuine smile. 

“Could be fun. We could blame me this time.”

Wilson shrugs half-heartedly and House begins to feel slightly better.

It’s then that he notices that his mother seems to be wrapping up her conversation and looking toward him. He knows that they’d taken the casket shortly before the cops had arrived to prepare for the burial. He’s not sure if she wants him to come to that after what’s happened today. He decides he’s not going to wait around to find out.

“Well,” he says, using his cane to lever himself out of his chair. “I’m hungry. Tell you what, you drive us to that diner we passed on the way in, and I…will…you know…”

Wilson looks at him, head tilted, and eyes squinting. “You’ll….what?”

House coughs the word ‘pay’ and Wilson actually snorts a laugh as he stands again. 

“Okay. Though, considering how hard it was for you to say, it should be interesting to see what happens when you attempt to hand over your credit card.”

“Does it count if the card has your name on it?” House muses as they walk toward the exit. 

Wilson stops suddenly and House is afraid that maybe he’s taken it too far….their friendship is too fragile right now to risk…

But Wilson just smiles at him gently. “No, House. That does not count. ”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re ensconced in a booth, their food in front of them. House digs into his sandwich as Wilson stares at his own, still looking slightly perplexed. House guesses he’s been too worried about the state of their relationship to expect the next question that comes out of Wilson’s mouth. 

“Did you know I was gonna do that? Because I didn’t know I was gonna do that.”

But House already knows the answer.


End file.
